


Ten Times Trouble

by TigerKat



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Numerous OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerKat/pseuds/TigerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Barbara are getting married. All ten Doctors go to their wedding. Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Times Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the churchontime ficathon, hence crack. Two’s line about lacy cravats originated in the finaleclipse community with suitboyskin, so all credit goes to him for graciously allowing me to use it. Also fits in timeline-wise with my story Listening, but reading that is not remotely required.
> 
> Dedicated to eponymous_rose, who is awesome.
> 
> This was written mid-season 4, hence only ten Doctors.

The church was empty, silent apart from the creaking of the doors and the Doctor’s footsteps on the carpet. He frowned.

No, this was wrong. He had the right place, he was certain, and more importantly he was certain he had the right time. But something was off. Flowers looped along the pews, the service was set up, the register in place, everything ready; there were simply no people. Was he early?

The Doctor ran down a mental checklist. He’d hidden the TARDIS in a closet in the basement, and left Ben and Polly to entertain themselves inside (how, he did not want to know). Had he told them not to come out…? Yes, he had, and locked down the controls, even locked the closet door, too. They couldn’t get in _too_ much trouble.

Hmm. Better not to think that, perhaps.

He was just on the verge of heading back to the TARDIS to triple-check the date and ensure that his companions weren’t ending the world when he heard footsteps behind him. “Excuse me, rector?”

Automatically, he assumed his most reverend attitude, turned around, and said, “Yes, my child?”

The woman behind him, her soft blue cardigan and wavy brown hair familiar as time, smiled tentatively. “Is everything ready for the wedding?” she asked. “Only my sister got me to come down and ask. She’s terrified that something will go wrong.”

Oh, dear.

He was willing to bet that a mysteriously absent rector would count as “wrong.”

Well, he had been ordained once, even if it was accidentally, and it would not be the first time he had fixed things for these two. The Doctor nodded. “Oh, yes, my dear,” he told her, grasping his lapels and smiling kindly. “Everything will be fine.”

\---

Ian Chesterton had not exactly led an uneventful life. In the past two years alone, he’d faced down Daleks, Voord, Venusians and Zarbi, Romans, Crusaders, Aztecs and Mongols. He’d thought he was frightened then.

Well, if he’d been frightened then, he was _terrified_ now.

Not of Barbara, or of being married to her. Being married to her would be easy and natural as breathing–they were perfectly suited to each other, after all, and they’d been in love for so very long already. No, being married held no terrors for him.

 _Getting_ married, on the other hand, did. 

Especially when strange men, accompanied by rebellious-looking girls, appeared in his dressing room. 

He pressed back up against the wall and stared at them, trying to decide if they were there to hurt him or not (travelling with the Doctor, you never knew). The peculiar duo stared back: the girl, a rather lovely brunette in a large black jacket, looking confused; the man, middle-aged with a Panama hat and a bizarre umbrella, merely contemplative. 

_“…Professor,”_ the girl said, in an accusatory tone.

“Yes, yes,” the man said, and got up. “Hello, Ian. Very sorry to interrupt, but it really isn’t my fault this time.” 

_“This_ time?” The girl’s voice scaled up.

Ian decided that they probably weren’t going to kill him and asked, cautiously, “I’m sorry, have we met?”

The man blinked. “Oh, am I the first? How strange. Yes, I’m the Doctor.”

 _“You’re_ the…” Ian gave the other man a long, hard stare. A kindly, mournful face beneath dark hair sticking out every which way beneath a Panama hat, a white jacket, a sweater vest with question marks all over it (he was fairly sure the Doctor would not have been caught dead in a vest like that). “No, you’re not.”

“Oi, you--” the girl started.

The man laid a hand on her arm. “Never mind, Ace. I was quite different when I knew him. Trust me, Ian, it is me, and I am terribly sorry for interrupting your wedding.” He paused, thought about it, then said, “Again. Do pass that on to Barbara for me, will you? Now, Ace, see if you can find me a light bulb. And a metal fixture; that one on the door will do.”

The girl gave Ian one last, narrow-eyed glance, then went off to the door to pry the fixture off. The man turned around, humming under his breath, and snatched a pen off the table. “May I have this? It’s for a good cause.”

“It isn’t mine,” Ian said. He was fairly sure Colin had left it; Colin was good at losing pens. “Look, I’m sorry, but how did you get in here?”

“The Master caught us away from the TARDIS,” the man said, taking some unidentifiable pieces of machinery out of his pockets and slotting the pen into them. “I’m afraid I was taken by surprise. But I can get us back.”

Ian did not respond directly, blindsided by the word ‘TARDIS,’ that word that only one other person on the planet knew. A blue police box, bigger on the inside, adventure and terror, other planets far away and Earth so far back in the past that it might as well be another planet, Barbara’s hand in his, Susan’s cheerful face, Vicki’s piping voice and over it all the Doctor, smiling benevolently… “Doctor?” he said, not quite believing even yet.

The Doctor looked up and gave him that same benevolent smile, and there was no question in Ian’s mind anymore. “It’s called regeneration,” he Doctor said. “Every so often I change bodies. A very long story, and one I haven’t time to explain just at the moment, but you’re going to be seeing rather a lot of me today. I’m sure I’ll be happy to explain. I suggest asking the fellow in the cricketing gear, as the others are going to be a bit busy. Thank you, Ace.”

The girl returned and handed him the fixture. “Can’t get the light bulb,” she said, “unless I take one out of a lamp.”

“Well, go and do it then,” the Doctor said. “We’ve got to stop the Master, after all. There, that should do it.” He twisted the fixture into place on the strange machine he’d produced, and held it up, frowning at it. “Or… no, it still needs something…”

“The light bulb?” Ian suggested. 

“No, that’s for the Master,” the Doctor said, and shook his head. “No, something… oh, of course, how could I be so silly? Ian, may I have your tie?”

Ian blinked. “My… what on earth do you want my tie for?”

The Doctor reversed the machine, which looked strangely elegant for all it had been assembled out of bits and bobs, and showed him a hook that the fixture from the door had created. “It forms a loop that keeps Ace and me with it when it goes back,” he explained. “That’s the simple version, of course; I could get far more complicated but I gather you wouldn’t prefer it.” He smiled again, and his eyes twinkled. “So may I borrow your tie? I’ll bring it back.”

Ian thought about it, then shrugged. What was one more tie? His mother might lecture him, but he suspected Barbara would get a kick out of the story. He slipped it off over his head and handed it to the Doctor.

“Perfect!” the Doctor said, threading it rapidly through the hook and tying a neat, tight knot. “Right. Ace, got that light bulb?”

“Almost.” The girl had unplugged a lamp and was halfway under the lampshade, fighting with it. “Ha! Got it.”

“Good, then come here and put your hand through this and we’ll go.” The Doctor beamed at Ian. “Congratulations, my dear boy. May you be happy.” 

The girl slipped a hand through the loop, and the Doctor turned the pen cap halfway around. Ian barely had time to nod before they faded from view.

Bemused, he turned away from the spot where they’d been and began fixing his collar in the mirror. How very odd. 

And just what had he meant about _others…?_

\---

Louisa Wright twitched the neckline of her bridesmaid’s dress just a little lower before she approached the two men. One, a lovely Byronic type with long brown curls and a poet’s face, was pretty but really not her type; however, the other, tall and rugged and simply gorgeous in leather, was precisely what she was looking for. My, but Ian did have good-looking friends.

The gorgeous one lit a cigarette as she approached, only to have it neatly and quickly removed by the pretty one.

“Have a little respect, Fitz, it’s a wedding,” she heard the pretty one say.

“So?” The gorgeous one tapped another cigarette out of the box, scowling. “I don’t know them, do I? They’re _your_ friends.”

The pretty one took that cigarette too, and the box. “Yes, and need I remind you that Barbara once drove a–hello, miss, is something wrong?”

Damn, they’d seen her. Louisa had been looking forward to that story; it sounded like there was rather more to her sister than the bookish schoolmarm she’d always seen. Oh well. She directed her prettiest smile at the gorgeous one and said, “No, not at all. We’re to begin soon, so if you could sign the register and sit down, please…?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the pretty one said, and beamed. He had a lovely smile, she had to admit. He took up the pen and began writing in a beautiful, flowing hand. 

Louisa took advantage of his distraction to edge closer to the gorgeous man. “I’m Louisa,” she said, and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Sister of the bride.”

“Fitz,” he grunted, glaring at the pretty man’s back. “Dragged along unwilling.”

“You could have stayed in your room,” the pretty one said, still writing. “Bride or groom…”

She wasn’t sure if it was a question, but Louisa answered anyway. “They only want to know if you’re friends with the bride or groom. It changes which side you sit on.”

“Does it?” the pretty man said, looking up at her and opening his absurdly long-lashed eyes very wide. “How strange. We’ll have to sit in the aisle, then.” He returned to writing.

“What?” Louisa asked, blankly.

Fitz grunted again. “He’s like that.”

“I’m friends with both the bride and the groom,” the pretty man said, capping the pen and laying it aside. “And that reminds me, I need to speak to Ian. Is he around?”

Louisa blinked. “I don’t believe so,” she said, cautiously. “But we’re about to start, so he should be up any moment.”

“Lovely. Fitz, entertain the young lady for a moment, will you?”

Fitz’s scowl deepened, then, abruptly, he switched on the charm. “It will be my pleasure, Doctor,” he said, and lifted Louisa’s hand to his lips.

That completely blanked out Louisa’s usual perceptiveness, which led to her missing the interesting exchange between the pretty man and her soon-to-be brother-in-law. She only came back to reality when Fitz blinked and leaned away from her.

The pretty man and Ian were walking back towards them, deep in conversation. Ian was for some reason only now putting his tie on, and looking mildly aggravated. “…there’s going to be _more_ of you?”

“I’m afraid so,” the pretty man said, and smiled sheepishly. “Erm, the one who claims he’s undercover, don’t mind him. The rest of us are much less strange. Except the chap in the scarf, but he’s got a babysitter.”

Ian sighed. “Well, it’ll be a story, I suppose. Thanks for returning my tie.” He looked at Fitz. “Hello.”

Fitz nodded. “Fitz.”

“Ian.”

“Pleasure.”

“Indeed.”

“Boys,” Louisa muttered under her breath. The pretty man laughed.

“Well, we’ll be off, Ian,” he said, taking Fitz’s arm. “It was lovely to see you. Do give Barbara my love.”

Ian smiled. “I will. Enjoy your travels.” The pretty man nodded, and wandered off with Fitz in tow, towards the doors. Ian turned to Louisa. “Hadn’t you better go downstairs? Your mother said they’re lining up.”

“What, already?” Louisa gasped, and fled downstairs, where, as it turned out, no lining-up was occurring. Barbara was, however, close to panicking, their mother fussing, and the other bridesmaids dithering about in a flurry of chaotic non-productivity. Louisa sighed, and took charge.

Only later, after she’d sorted out the mess, calmed her sister down, drafted the bridesmaids into getting the guests in place and shooed her mother upstairs, did it occur to her that the questions she’d been about to ask had been neatly dodged.

\---

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Caroline Wright said, watching the bridesmaids shoo the guests into place. “Our Barbara getting married.”

Her husband Paul grunted. “About time, if you ask me.”

Caroline gave him a reproving look. “Paul, don’t start.”

“Don’t _start?”_ he demanded. “Don’t _start?_ Two _years_ the girl is gone! She just swans back in and expects us to forgive everything and come to the wedding?”

 _“Paul,”_ Caroline said. “She is your daughter and you will stop that right this instant. At least _try_ to be happy for her.”

“Oh, I’m happy all right,” Paul said, glaring impartially around the room. “Happy she’s off our hands at last. Who would have thought she could cause this much trouble?”

Someone behind them said, “You’ll find it’s the quiet ones that cause the most trouble. Have we met?”

Grateful for the distraction, Caroline turned around. The gentleman behind her was… well, distinctive, she supposed was the most diplomatic phrase. Yes. Distinctive. A mass of blond curls above an outfit that induced eyestrain within seconds, complete with ridiculous tie, was certainly distinctive.

She almost didn’t notice his companion, a small woman of about her own age with glasses and a pointed look, until the woman tugged on the man’s elbow and hissed, “I thought you were supposed to be undercover.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about, Evelyn,” the man responded, in what Caroline thought was a massive refusal of reality. “I am undercover. I am stealth personified. I am so undercover that I might come to resemble a bedpan at any moment. This is Evelyn Smythe, I’m the Doctor, and you are?”

“Caroline Wright,” Caroline said, managing to keep a straight face only with great effort. The Doctor? It wasn’t terribly strange for a doctor to be so egotistical that he referred to himself as the only doctor around, but still. “This is my husband, Paul. We’re the bride’s parents… er, I expect you must know Ian…” 

“Oh, both of them, both of them,” the Doctor said, waving a hand airily. “Not like this, of course, I expect they would have run screaming if they saw me dressed like this–“

“I’m surprised _I_ didn’t,“ Evelyn Smythe muttered, and Caroline found herself in perfect agreement.

“–hush, Evelyn–but yes, I’m a friend. It’s lovely to meet Barbara’s parents at last, though not,” and here he shot a glare at Paul so quickly that Caroline almost missed it, “to hear her badmouthed.”

Paul stiffened and shot a glare right back. Caroline stepped on his foot as hard as she could and said, sweetly, “Yes, well, Paul is a bit overwrought. He is losing his oldest, today. You understand.”

The Doctor opened his mouth, but Evelyn stepped on his foot just as hard and replied, equally sweetly, “Oh, indeed. You must be feeling so conflicted.”

“Conflicted!” Paul got out, before Caroline could stop him. _“Conflicted!_ When she swans off for two years with some man and never bothers to even _write...”_

“Oh, yes, and you never once considered that she might not have had a choice?” the Doctor retorted. Evelyn dragged on his arm, but he shook her off impatiently and took a step forward. “Barbara is a wonderful woman and I will not hear her spoken of this way!”

 _“Doctor,”_ Evelyn hissed, in precisely the same tone as Caroline’s _“Paul.”_

Both men ignored them. “She’s my daughter and I’ll speak of her any way I choose,” Paul snapped, stepping forward himself. “As it happens I _do_ think she might not have had a choice, which is why I don’t like that Chesterton boy half as well as her!”

The Doctor drew himself up, and Caroline realized that he was a good head taller than her husband. She shot a nervous glance at Evelyn, who’d covered her face in her hands. It was clearly up to them to prevent a fight. Because if there was one thing Barbara would never forgive, it was fisticuffs at her wedding. 

“Ian,” the Doctor was currently thundering, “is just as splendid as Barbara, and frankly I’ve no idea how the pair of them put up with you!”

“Two years!” Paul shouted, holding up two fingers in an obscene gesture that Caroline hoped was inadvertent. “ _Two years!_ Two years she’s gone and I’m expected to just say, oh, welcome back, trot on in and have some tea?” 

“Yes!” the Doctor bellowed back. “Respect the poor girl’s privacy for heaven’s sake! She’s getting married, isn’t she, what more do you hidebound old fools want from her?”

_“Hidebound old fools?”_

Caroline exchanged a quick glance with Evelyn and decided that the situation had gone quite far enough. “Paul,” she snapped, grabbing his elbow and dragging him backwards a few steps. “Hadn’t you better get down to Barbara? We’re going to start soon.”

Paul, still glaring, sniffed audibly, about-faced and marched down the stairs, indignation in every line of him.

Evelyn took the much simpler route of whacking the Doctor in the ribs with her handbag. “Stop that right this instant!” she snarled. “You’re going to ruin the whole wedding!”

“I am not,” the Doctor snapped back. “He started it, didn’t he, badmouthing my companions…”

She whacked him again. “Shut it and keep it shut! Go and sit down or I’ll hit you a third time.” The Doctor slouched off down the pews, grumbling, and Evelyn turned to Caroline. “ _Men_!” she said.

“I quite agree,” Caroline said. “Thank you ever so much for your assistance. I’m afraid Paul can cut up rather stiff at times.”

Evelyn shook her head. “He’s just as bad,” she said, jerking her head towards the Doctor. “We’ll have to keep them apart at the reception, that’s all. _Are_ you starting?”

“Any moment now,” Caroline said. “Do sit down. And thank you again.”

“Think nothing of it,” Evelyn said, and smiled warmly. 

\---

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

And about bloody time too, Thomas Chesterton thought, from his position by his brother’s side as best man. Really, even before Ian had eloped, it had been obvious to pretty much everyone that he was head over heels in love with his pretty history teacher. Thomas was uncertain as to why they hadn’t had the decency to just get married while they were away and save their families this rigmarole.

But for his brother’s sake he would put up with it. Ian still packed a good punch.

Besides, the pretty history teacher had a pretty little sister. 

Thomas smiled at Louisa Wright, across the way as maid of honor. She blushed and smiled back. The rector cleared his throat discreetly and they both returned their attention to the ceremony.

“…reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained. First, it was ordained for the procreation of children…”

Well, Ian had that one right down. Thomas never would have thought it of his brother; Ian had always seemed so straight-laced. Nice to know even the mighty fell occasionally. He glanced inadvertently at Barbara’s stomach–she wasn’t showing yet, thank God, or his mum and dad would probably have had an even bigger fit–and looked up straight into Louisa’s eyes. She blushed again and dropped her gaze hastily.

Interesting. So at least one other sibling knew. He’d bet the parents didn’t, though.

“…into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

Thank God, they were coming to the vows. He could soon get off his feet and sit…

…what was that noise?

The rector stopped mid-sentence. Ian and Barbara both turned around with expressions much resembling those of someone who has unexpectedly been handed a thousand pounds by their worst enemy. The audience shuffled and whispered, and the big blond man who’d caused all the trouble earlier looked outraged.

A blue box shimmered into view on the center aisle. 

Gasps and a few screams echoed in the sanctuary as the key-on-piano-wire noise faded away into a shrieking silence. Barbara had crowded into Ian’s side, and the two of them stared at the box with wide eyes. Thomas stood frozen, mouth open. So that story hadn’t been a drunken lie…

The door opened with an ominous creak, and a blond man in cricketing gear strolled out.

He beamed at everyone, and essayed a wave. “Hullo! Don’t mind me, just here for the wedding. I wonder if you could… oh…” He trailed off as he realized that a good many people were staring in fear, and a minority were glaring.

“Excuse me,” the rector said, his voice dripping with ice. “We were rather in the middle of something.”

“Um, beg pardon,” the blond man said, looking positively diffident. “I must have got my timing wrong.”

“I should say.”

Thomas coughed. “Excuse me,” he said, rather diffident himself. “If we might continue with the wedding? Unless you had a reason they shouldn’t be married,” he added, to the blond man, and decided that if the blond man _did_ say anything he’d better punch him and bundle him back into his box before Ian did.

“Oh, no, no, no, far from it. I only wanted to see the ceremony.” The blond man actually scuffed a foot against the carpet. “Er, terribly sorry. I’ll just go and move the TARDIS.” He darted back into his blue box, which shimmered away again with that scraping sound reversed.

Thomas exhaled, turned around, and raised an eyebrow at Ian, who was still clutching Barbara and looking rather poleaxed. 

“You don’t suppose…” Ian began, but he seemed to be talking to Barbara, and Thomas didn’t feel like answering.

“It’s a nice thought, anyway,” Barbara responded, her voice going a little high with stress.

“ _If_ I might continue,” the rector said, loudly enough for the guests to hear. The congregation obediently (if somewhat nervously) shuffled itself back into place. The rector cleared his throat ostentatiously and went on. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?”

Finally, Thomas thought, resisting the urge to swipe a hand across his brow. First the curly blond man and now the diffident blond man. This wedding was getting far too interesting for his tastes.

\---

“Thank goodness that’s over,” Barbara said, and went straight into Ian’s arms.

“Amen.” Ian rested his head atop hers, and they stood in silence for a moment. She relaxed into the comfort of his embrace, so dear and familiar and now entirely hers. Well, officially, at any rate. She knew Ian had been hers for far longer than today.

And she his, if it came to that. Well.

“Was that the Doctor?” she asked, breaking the silence. “Really, I mean? He didn’t look anything like our Doctor.”

Ian sighed. “I think he was,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but this morning I got a visit from another one of him. Two, actually.”

“Another… what? Ian, what are you talking about?” She leaned back to get a better look at his face.

“Another Doctor,” he said, and told her the story. She was giggling by the end of it. “...and the other one returned my tie just in the nick of time. I suppose he’s got better at driving the TARDIS by now.”

“One can only hope,” Barbara replied, and nestled her head against his chest again. “So he reincarnates.”

Ian kissed the top of her head. “Mm, in a way. At least that’s how the second gentleman explained it. He said he’s on his eighth incarnation.”

“Eight!” She started. “Do you mean to say there are going to be eight of them showing up?”

He laughed. “The first one did say we were going to be seeing rather a lot of him today. I only hope they’ve got better timing then the blond one.”

Barbara groaned and hid her face in his chest. “And our Doctor hasn’t even come.”

Ian laughed again. “He’d probably miss by a few hundred years.” He stepped back and leaned down to kiss her.

When they’d finished, she slipped her arms around his neck to keep him from leaning back up. “You know,” she breathed, “they aren’t expecting us at the reception for at least half an hour.”

“Is that so?” Ian’s gaze heated, and her body heated with it. “Well, if we have that long…” 

Some time and several bits of clothing later, she heard someone coming down the hall. “Ian!” 

He jerked to his feet and managed to get her skirts down just as the door opened and a skinny man backed in, still talking. “…lovely people, really, some of the best oh.”

“Best oh?” a woman behind him asked. “Doctor, what are you on about?”

“Nothing! Nothing to see here,” the man–another of the Doctors!–babbled, his eyes darting as if he didn’t know where to look. “Nothing at all. Empty room. Let’s try down the hall, shall we?” He backed out rapidly, and shut the door with an overemphatic bang.

Barbara looked at her husband, rumpled and scowling with his hair every which way, and burst into laughter. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Ian muttered. “Slowly. Oh, come on, Barbara, it isn’t funny!”

“Yes it is,” she said, between giggles. “His face! _Your_ face!”

Ian narrowed his eyes, and said, “So that’s funny, is it?” He caught at her waist and his mouth came down on hers, hard, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore, but something much better.

This time they made sure to lock the door. 

\---

That was the wedding down, and only the reception to go before she never had to see Paul and Caroline Wright again. Elisabeth Chesterton mopped her brow and sat carefully at a table by the door, the better to monitor the guests for any unexpected disturbances. If she never had to overhear another rant about her son and his supposed seducing tendencies…

Ian simply wasn’t _like_ that! And she’d been eavesdropping so she couldn’t even justify springing to his defense. Elisabeth set her mouth in a tight line. As if women couldn’t decide they wanted something and go after it. 

And then that strange box. She didn’t even have the faintest idea what that had been about. Some prank, maybe? At least the man had taken himself off and hadn’t interrupted the ceremony further. 

Elisabeth raised her eyes to the heavens and sent up a brief prayer– _no more interruptions._ Let the reception go off flawlessly, please. 

“…very well, how about a wedding?”

She glanced sharply up as an elegant white-haired man in a green velvet jacket entered the room, accompanied by a pretty young girl in a brown pantsuit. The man was the one speaking, and he continued as he held the door open for the girl. “That’s peaceful enough, isn’t it?”

“Doctor, _nothing_ is peaceful with you around.” The girl surveyed the crowd in talking, mingling groups, and said, “How do you know these people, anyway?”

“They travelled with me for a time,” the man said. “You’d like them, Sarah, especially Barbara. She was very like you.”

The girl brightened. “Do you think?”

Elisabeth stood and made her way over to them. “Pardon,” she said, “but were you invited?”

The man gave her a charming smile. “I’m afraid not, but I expect Ian and Barbara would be glad to see us, Mrs…?”

“Chesterton,” Elisabeth supplied. 

“Ah! Ian’s mother, then. May I compliment you on your son?” He took her hand and bowed over it with rare grace. “I’m the Doctor, and this is my companion Miss Sarah Jane Smith. Sarah Jane has got rather tired of the trouble I drag her into, and so I said I would take her somewhere quiet for once.” 

Sarah Jane bobbed her head awkwardly. “How do you do.”

Charmed in spite of herself, Elisabeth smiled. “Well, if you’re a friend of Ian’s, you must come and have a drink at least. I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment.”

The Doctor smiled; his eyes crinkled up at the corners as he did. “Giving the bride and groom a moment alone before the hullabaloo? I thoroughly approve.”

“We all thought it best to be discreet,” Elisabeth said, and sighed. 

He made sympathetic noises. “Children are a trial, aren’t they?”

“Horrible,” Elisabeth agreed, watching with some amusement as Sarah Jane shot the Doctor a narrow-eyed look of confusion. Now there was a conversation she’d love to overhear.

“Oh, look, isn’t it lovely?” 

A shorter, shabbier man had just pushed through the double doors, with a boy in a kilt by his side, and a girl in a beautiful old dress trailing behind them with wide eyes. “I do love the roses,” the shabby man said, rubbing his hands together, and turned to Elisabeth with a smile broad across his face. “And you must be Ian’s sister, dear lady.”

Elisabeth blushed, oddly flattered. “Of course not,” she replied, tartly. “I’m his mother. Who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, and beamed some more, taking her hand and shaking it briskly. “Such a pleasure to meet you. I say, you don’t look nearly old enough to be his mother.”

“The Doctor?” Elisabeth asked, distracted from the overdone and rather nice flattery. “But…”

“Oh, lovely,” the Doctor in green velvet said, his voice frosty. “The hobo has chosen to grace us with his presence.”

The shabby Doctor stiffened. Behind him, the girl and boy blinked in unison; the boy leaned forward and whispered, “Doctor, who’s that?”

“That’s me,” the shabby Doctor replied, his tone as stiff as his face. “The foppish version, anyway. Jamie, why don’t you and Victoria go and have a drink? I’m going to be a moment.”

The bekilted boy–Jamie, obviously–blinked again in surprise, but obediently took the girl’s arm and headed off towards the bar. Elisabeth resigned herself to arbitrating alone.

“Late as usual, I see,” the elegant Doctor said, straightening his cuffs ostentatiously. “And just as poorly dressed as ever. I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

The shabby Doctor rolled his eyes. “Dandy to the core. I don’t know about you, but I’ve come to see a wedding, not my coat.”

The elegant Doctor sniffed. “A certain standard of dress in a man shows a respect for the traditions and meanings of the day that a little troll like yourself could never understand.”

“Oh, indeed,” the shabby Doctor said, “and nothing says ‘I’m manly’ like saving the world in a lacy cravat.”

“Why, you little cretin!”

Sarah Jane looked torn between horror and amusement. “I don’t _know_ you!” she cried, then turned to Elisabeth and, half-laughing, said, “I don’t _know_ him!”

Elisabeth, unsure whether to laugh or cry, only shook her head. At least they were keeping it quiet.

\---

It was all so terribly romantic. 

Katy Chesterton sighed happily and propped her chin in her hands, watching the wedding party pass by. There was Thomas, unaccountably good-looking, and whoever would have thought her scruffy brother would scrub up so well? Barbara’s pretty little sister Louisa on Thomas’s arm; Katy was certain they would be great friends. The other groomsmen and bridesmaids all dressed up, but not nearly as handsome or as pretty as Thomas or Louisa. 

Her parents, Barbara’s parents, smiling very politely at everyone else and pretending that this wedding wasn’t an embarrassment, which, in Katy’s opinion, it wasn’t. After all, everyone knew that eloping was the most romantic way to go about getting married, even if the people in question didn’t get married until they got back. But having the wedding first was silly and old-fashioned. All in all, she thoroughly approved of the way her big brother had gone about things.

And besides, her parents should be thanking their lucky stars that Ian had got married at all. Ian had seemed so happy on his own, before he eloped, anyway. Katy frowned–perhaps that eloping had been _because_ he was discontented–then dismissed the thought. He was certainly happy now. 

There were Ian and Barbara at last, beaming joy, both of them slightly dishevelled and Ian blushing just a little bit. Katy stifled a giggle. She could guess what had been happening. Who’d’ve thought _that_ of her straight-laced big brother? 

No, Ian was definitely in love if he was kissing his wife in closets and eloping. How thrillingly romantic.

She must have said that last out loud, because a blonde woman beside her arched an inquiring eyebrow. “What is?”

“Oh, this whole _wedding_ ,” Katy said, not in the least embarrassed. It was so modern to be overheard talking to yourself, after all. A sign of genius. “Look at them, they’re so ragingly happy. I’m so pleased.”

The blonde woman smiled softly. “Indeed,” she said. “My companion was very happy for them as well. They were always some of his favorites.”

“Favorite what?” Katy asked, and was distracted by the wedding dance beginning. “Oh, how _romantic_.”

And it was, it really and truly was. Barbara looked so beautiful in white, with her hair down for once, and Ian was really very handsome for a big brother, both of them swaying to the music. Katy clasped her hands beneath her chin and drank it all in.

“Someone should give that boy a dancing lesson,” the blonde woman observed, after a moment. “Honestly, he’s bad as the Doctor.”

Katy shot her a glare– _no_ one insulted her brothers except her (and Sarah, of course, but sisters were a different matter). “Ian can dance perfectly well,” she said, frostily, then asked, “Who’s the Doctor?”

The blonde woman, to Katy’s slight displeasure, looked only amused by the set-down. “The Doctor is my companion,” she said. “I’m looking after him for a bit. He does have the most appalling ability to get into trouble.”

“Does he?” Katy asked, somewhat uncertainly.

“Oh, you’ve no idea. He...” The blonde woman trailed off and looked around, her eyes narrowing. “Now where’s he gone?”

Just as she finished speaking, the speakers fizzed, popped, and trailed off into a hiss of static mid-song. Ian and Barbara stopped dancing and gave the musicians puzzled looks; the musicians gave them puzzled looks right back.

Katy gasped. “Oh, how horrid!”

The blonde woman rolled her eyes, got up, and stalked over towards the nearest speaker, which she pulled aside to reveal an absurdly tall man in an absurdly long scarf tinkering with the back.

“ _Doctor_ ,” she said, her voice even frostier than Katy’s. “What did I tell you about causing trouble?”

“I’m not causing trouble,” the tall man said, without looking up. He aimed a strange tool that looked like a dentist’s apparatus at the back of the speaker. “I’m making it better, Romana. Really, it’s ridiculous the technology people will use. If I just reroute this and connect that wire to this one then the sound quality will be almost four hundred times better and the projection– _gak_!”

The blonde woman had taken hold of his scarf and pulled him half off the ground. “Fix it,” she said, clipped and deadly. “Or it won’t be me you’ll have to face.”

“What could be scarier than you?” the tall man asked, wide-eyed with innocence.

The blonde woman didn’t even answer. She just nodded at Ian and Barbara, glaring from the dance floor.

The man looked, swallowed, and did something very fast to the back of the speaker. It hissed, fizzed and popped back into life immediately. 

“There, it’s fixed,” he said, standing up (and really, Katy thought, he was _absurdly_ tall; who needed that much leg?). “Happy now?”

The blonde woman crossed her arms. “No. But it will do. Once they’re finished, you will apologize, and then we are leaving. Honestly! You’re like a four-year-old sometimes!”

“I beg your pardon!” the tall man said. “I have a good six hundred years on you, madam!”

The blonde woman gave him a withering look, and said, “Yes, and I’ve two hundred years of sense. What do you have? Four?”

He did not deign to respond to that, instead stalking over to the seat next to Katy and overflowing it. “Females,” he said, sounding deeply disgruntled. “You try to improve things and they muck it all up.”

“Oh, indeed?” Katy asked, sweetly. 

“Allow me to translate.” The blonde woman had followed him back. “What he means is, he creates a giant mess and then gets irritated when I pick it up.” She cast the tall man a look of exasperated fondness. “I swear, sometimes he’s just not worth the trouble.”

“Only sometimes?” the tall man asked, still disgruntled. “I should think all the time.”

“Don’t be silly, Doctor,” the blonde woman said, serenely. “Now shut up and watch them dance. Honestly, he’s worse than you.”

Katy, thoroughly nonplussed, took the woman’s advice and spent the rest of the reception pretending that the man in the scarf did not exist. 

\---

The Doctor had been feeling depressed lately, that much was obvious. Having Rose away didn’t exactly help, either, but she’d wanted some time with her mum, and neither the Doctor nor Jack was about to deny her that. So they’d left her on earth and set off into the Vortex.

Jack had put up with the Doctor’s moping for a while, figuring that everyone deserved some time off. But there was only so much sulking a guy could take, and he’d hit that point an hour ago. 

And now he was at the wedding of two old companions, drink in one hand, the Doctor leaning against the wall next to him, playing “spot the Doctor.”

Highly preferable to wondering whether the Doctor had chosen to sulk in the library or the kitchen.

“That one,” he said. “Curls in a scarf. That’s you.”

The Doctor grinned. “Fourth body. What gave me away?”

“The teeth,” Jack said. “You’re very toothy when you want to be. Um.” He scanned the crowds, which didn’t help much, since his eyes kept snagging on all the pretty girls and handsome men.

“Look over by the door,” the Doctor advised.

Jack did as directed. “Wow. What a fight. Green velvet’s you, I bet. Who’s the other guy, and what’d he ever do to you?”

“My second and third incarnations never got along,” the Doctor said, and shrugged. 

“Wait, wait, wait. They’re _both_ you?”

The Doctor grinned again, this time somewhat smugly. “The shabby one is my second body and the elegant one is my third. I did tell you I varied a bit.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Just then, a lovely blonde woman in a perfect shade of blue strode past, heading purposefully for the guy in the scarf. Jack whistled. “Who’s the babe?”

The Doctor looked, and the smile fell off his face. “Romana,” he said, flatly, and turned away, towards the wall.

Well, shit. That had been the wrong thing to do. 

Whatever. Now was not the time. They could discuss this Romana later, but this was a wedding. Jack looked hastily about for a distraction, and found one in the shape of the groom. 

He cleared his throat to catch the Doctor’s attention, then sauntered over to Ian Chesterton and leered at him. “Hello, handsome,” he said. “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

Ian Chesterton, clearly nonplussed, blinked at him. “Uh. Getting married, actually.”

“Shame,” Jack said, cheerfully. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the Doctor hustling up to him. “Guess you’re busy tonight. Still, there’s always Saturday.”

Ian stiffened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He knew very well what Jack had meant. Jack grinned.

The Doctor arrived. “Jack,” he hissed through his teeth, “what are you doing?” 

It was not a question. Jack answered anyway. “Doing my thing, Doc, doing my thing.” 

The Doctor did not seem to appreciate that.

Fortunately for Jack’s continued well-being, the bride arrived just then. Barbara Chesterton was just as lovely as the Doctor had described her, if in a slightly unconventional way. She had really beautiful eyes, dark and promising, and a smile for her husband that, in Jack’s professional opinion, could stop hearts if used for ill. 

She tucked her arm through her husband’s possessively, and Jack felt a brief pang of jealousy that he stepped on, hard. This was about cheering up the Doctor, not his own emotional issues.

“Ian,” she said, smiling, with just the tiniest edge to her voice. “What’s going on here?”

“I wish that I knew,” Ian said, fervently. “Um, this is my wife, Barbara.” 

Share and share alike. Jack leered at her, too. “Captain Jack Harkness, ma’am,” he said. “May I say you’re looking especially lovely?”

“You may,” she said, sweetly. “In moderation.”

Ouch. Stung. Nice set of anti-aircraft guns on her, Jack thought, grinning. “Then you’re looking especially lovely. Ma’am.”

“Don’t mind him,” the Doctor said, glaring. “His hormones are overactive.”

“Obviously,” Ian muttered, and pulled his wife just a little closer to his side, for protection or as protection, Jack couldn’t tell.

“Have we met?” Barbara asked, neatly turning the conversation away from hormones. 

Jack turned it back. “No. Pity, don’t you think?”

The Doctor stepped on his foot hard and gave the couple a toothy smile. “You’ve met me,” he said. “Repeatedly. Sorry about the chap in the scarf.”

“No trouble,” Ian said. “Doctor.”

The Doctor saluted briefly, and, Jack thought, ironically. “It’s wonderful to see you both,” he said, and then, as Green Velvet and Short’n’Shabby left, still bickering, added, “Again.”

“Beautiful ceremony,” Jack put in, and winked at Barbara. “I cried like a baby.”

Apparently the Chestertons had made a silent and simultaneous decision to politely ignore him. “We’re glad you could come,” Ian said, warmly, to the Doctor. “All of you. Though I could have done without the TARDIS materialising mid-ceremony. Or the abrupt appearance in my dressing room.”

“Second one wasn’t my fault,” the Doctor pointed out, probably fairly, though you never knew with him. “First, yeah, I’m sorry. Tegan yelled at me over it, if it helps.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Barbara said, and smiled at him.

“Yeah,” Jack said, _sotto voice._ “’Cause we all know you can’t drive.”

“Right, that’s it,” the Doctor said. “Barbara, Ian, lovely to see you again, congratulations, may you have many happy years and many healthy children, I’m going to take Jack back to the TARDIS and throw him in the pool.” He half-bowed to both of them, kissed Barbara’s hand in a gesture so unlike him that it had to be a conscious choice, then seized Jack’s arm and dragged him off towards the doors.

Jack threw a wink back over his shoulder and called, “Ciao! Look me up if you ever– _ow_! Doctor!” The Doctor didn’t respond, and Jack resigned himself to being ignored.

Once they were back in the TARDIS, the Doctor sighed, and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Jack, Jack, Jack. You had to go and flirt.”

“Of course,” Jack replied, as if it were obvious, which it was. “Life is short, and they are hot. Besides, you were about to go and be depressive again and we can’t have that.”

The Doctor barked a short, dry laugh. “Suppose not. Well, let’s go pick up Rose. There’s a lovely planet in 2775 I’ve been meaning to visit.”

\--

Barbara Wright Chesterton half-collapsed on a chair and took, gratefully, the glass of water Ian offered her. “Thank God that’s over,” she said, watching over the rim as the guests began to wander out. 

“No more Doctors,” Ian said, smiling. “I have to say, I did want to see him again, but…”

“Not like that?” She chuckled, and sighed. “No. Still, it’s a pity ours didn’t make it.”

Ian reached out and took her free hand, running his thumb over the back. “He did come, eventually. It just took him a while.”

She smiled at him, so grateful for him it hurt. What had she done to deserve Ian? “Yes. Besides, he would have felt obliged to be grumpy.”

“To keep up his image,” Ian agreed. “Not that it could have made today any more chaotic, but it could have troublesome.”

Barbara laughed outright. “Since when has anything ever not been chaotic for us?” she asked, and he grinned. “I wasn’t expecting quite this level of chaos, though. I thought your father and mine might come to blows, though.”

Ian winced. “Oh, dear. That’s going to make family reunions interesting.”

“We’ll manage.” She set down her glass and rested her free hand on her abdomen. Yes, they would manage. With everything.

Ian, who could apparently follow her thoughts just by watching her, kissed her hand gently. “And you’re feeling all right.”

“Fine,” she said. “Not looking forward to telling my parents, that’s all.” A moment, and she laughed at his expression. “Oh, Ian, don’t be like that. It doesn’t really matter now.”

“Your father,” he said, and she heard the worry, and shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter. He won’t disown me, since we are properly married now–“ she squeezed his hand, and he smiled– “and since I don’t have to live in the same house, I don’t really care what he has to say. Besides, grandchildren will convince him. I guarantee it.”

“If you’re sure.”

Louisa came up to them just then with a very odd expression on her face. “Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but there’s something strange going on.”

Barbara exchanged a resigned look with Ian before turning to her sister. “What is it?”

“The rector just called,” Louisa said. “He wanted to apologise again for not being able to make it. There are trees down on the tracks and he didn’t know until it was too late to drive back.”

Barbara blinked. “Well, he must have called someone else…”

Louisa shook her head. “He was apologising for that, too. I had to calm him down. Poor man was quite distraught.”

“Then who…?” She turned to look at Ian, saw her own confusion mirrored in his eyes.

“Did you know,” their Doctor said, from behind them, “that I was ordained once? Henry VIII. Very strange man.” He smiled at them, that benevolent, avuncular smile they’d so rarely seen on the TARDIS. “Did you think I would miss it? Congratulations.” He kissed Barbara’s forehead, shook Ian’s hand, bowed to both of them, and left.

Louisa frowned, staring after him. “Who on earth was that?”

“No one,” Ian said, and smiled at Barbara, squeezing her hand again. “No one.”


End file.
